


Mutants

by TheGreatestBageler



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, BAMF Wade Wilson, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Prisoner Wade Wilson, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Soldier Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatestBageler/pseuds/TheGreatestBageler
Summary: If a mutant was lucky, they would be picked from their cells and given to a handler. The handler would then work with the mutant, training them to be military weapons in some of the worst ways possible. If the mutant survived, then they were granted a minute taste of freedom before someone called the government and they were returned to the raft.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Tony Stark & Wade Wilson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Mutants

Mutants  
Wade  
“Inmate 12-52...It’s time to wake up.”

Wade growled, his arms resting under his head as the guard knocked his bully stick against the glass pane that separates him from the rest of the inmates and their handlers. It was a routine that Wade had become accustomed to since his capture eight years ago, when mutants were mandated as illegal--even if it wasn’t their fault. It was a unanimous decision made by the UN when an abundance of them cropped up across the world after everyone had seemingly been dusted. 

If a mutant was lucky, they would be picked from their cells and given to a handler. The handler would then work with the mutant, training them to be military weapons in some of the worst ways possible. If the mutant survived, then they were granted a minute taste of freedom before someone called the government and they were returned to the raft.

Thus far, Wade hadn’t been selected for a handler. Which, he debated, was probably a good thing. Why get a taste of what he had sought after and dreamed about for years, only for it to get ripped away again?

“Fuck you,” Wade groaned dragging a mottled hand down his face. His body ached as he moved to place his feet on the dusty cell floor. The chill seemed to seep into his bones, and caused bumps to break out over his flesh.

“Turn around, and back up to the door.”

Wade rolled his eyes, but did as he was told nonetheless. It was the same routine he had followed every day for the last eight years. Back up to the door, hands behind his back when demanded. Then they would place the cuffs on him and clip a chain to the center tugging him tightly against the door. Then said chain would be pulled in unison with the motion of the door opening, so that Wade was kept taught against the giant piece of vibranium. It was a maneuver that had no doubt saved several of the lives in the penitentiary.

“Morning, boys.” Wade mumbled glancing over the figures that were clad in nothing but black. Black masks, black turtleneck sweaters with thick kevlar vests. Black pants tucked tightly into black boots. And black guns that were trained on him at all times. Three of said guns were armed with sedatives (the effects of which Wade was not inexperienced with), and the rest were loaded with proper lead bullets. “Did you all sleep well? It’s been getting chilly in here. Any plans on raising the heat in this joint?”

“Silence, 12-52.” One of the guards barked. Their shoulders were squared off and tight; holding a tension that came only with new recruits. Wade had seen it all at this point; experienced, new, young, old, male, female, and everything in between.

Truthfully, if the ex-mercenary decided that he was done being nice, they all would have been dead in a matter of seconds. He had enough time and practice in the field that he could be rather quick and efficient if he decided to.

“Be good, 12-52. It’s time for breakfast,” A familiar voice came from behind him. It was a female--one of the few that worked his particular unit. Her name had never stayed in his mind, but he had dealt with her several times. “They even have your favorite.”

Wade snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Pancakes with real syrup?” Wade smirked as the officer stepped in front of him. Metal clanked against her leg as the extra set of cuffs rattled in their setting. Wade knew he was egging the guards on, but what else was there to do? It wasn’t like he could really socialize with anyone else beyond the group that would come by and lead him from activity to activity. They were determined to keep the mutants as separate from each other as they possibly could.

“If you mean Aunt Jemimah,” The officer smirked. Wade outwardly groaned, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. It wasn’t that he was surprised, or even truly disappointed (actually, he was). It was just the same routine. He got the same answer every time he asked, like clockwork. 

When he had first been arrested, Wade had messed with the officers in the hopes of eliciting some kind of humanistic reaction—flinches because he’s been beaten, whispered condolences when they threw him into his cell. Anything to remind him that these people were human, and understood that perhaps, what they were hired to do and were doing was completely inhumane. Especially since ninety percent of the mutants that had been forced into the damn prison weren’t even willingly changed. It had happened after the weird snap that dusted so many people Wade had been semi-friends with.

But, as the months turned into years, and time passed by, Wade lost hope. The little glimmer of possibility withered away into a paranoid anger that left him agitating the guard until he ended up in solitary confinement. He was rather surprised that his name hadn’t been plated on the wall of the sensory free room.

“What a shame,” Wade huffed, smirking a bit as the female guard kneed down in front of him. Her hands moved to the cuffs that had rattled against her earlier, and clipped them around his ankles. “Oh don’t get me excited! I like the position and all but--” A bully stick found its way into the side of Wade’s ribs. The ex-mercenary couldn’t say he surprised, and he probably (definitely) deserved the reaction. 

“Fucking,” Wade gasped, nearly doubling over as the wind was shoved out of his lungs. His chest tightened, causing what little air he could force into his lungs to sting with each inhale. “Hit me harder, daddy.” Wade coughed, not at all surprised when the hands that were holding him up let him drop to the floor.

“Breakfast, Wilson.” The officer sighed, shaking their head before stepping away. The other’s surrounding the prisoner, followed suite—being sure not to get on her bad side. “And don’t cause any trouble on the way down, yeah?”

“I make no promises, Madame!” Wade hissed, babying the ribs that had taken the brunt of the officer’s rage. If he hadn’t been enhanced, he would have been positive that the blows would have guaranteed a trip to the medic later. And had it been months ago, Wade would have found himself floundering and upset. But seeing as he had adjusted, and came to accept that regular humans feared his type...well that didn’t mean that a low burn of agitation hadn’t settled in the bottom pot of his stomach that left him wondering why the mutants accepted being treated like trash.

Guess this is the ultimate version of history repeats itself?

“Jesus, fuck.” Wade hissed, eyes rolling, as he trudged along the hallway. “Shut the fuck up Yellow.”


End file.
